


Too soon

by JauntyHako



Category: Supernatural
Genre: -Ish, Adam's planning skills are even worse, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Fluff, M/M, Michael has bad planning skills, sex therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3476591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JauntyHako/pseuds/JauntyHako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this Tumblr AU Prompt: Your appointment with a sexual therapist was right after mine and we got talking in the waiting room<br/>Because it was just too hilarious not to write</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too soon

**Author's Note:**

> I did this because there's a heartwrenchingly scene coming up in 'Sense, instinct, inclination' and I am too emotionally compromised to do it, so instead I wrote about Michael's premature ejaculation.  
> Hope you enjoy :)

„I come too early.“

 

Adam raised his head over the magazine, looking left and right. No one else sat in the waiting room. Which meant that the man who just said these four words in this particular order had addressed him, Adam, personally.

_Who says things like that?_ He screamed in his mind. In every damned waiting room in the world you sat and looked at magazines until your name was called. One would think that this went double for the office of a  _fucking sex therapist_ . 

And here this imbecilic, gross, insensitive, incredibly handsome adonis of a man … Adam lost his line of thought.

The man who came too early  _personified_ the adage of tall, dark and handsome. It was like he jumped straight out of an underwear ad, the kind that in pre-internet days had been sex-ed and illustrative material between sticky pages.

And he looked at him as if he expected constructive participation in a conversation Adam was fairly certain had to be against nature's laws.

„Uh … uhm … my condolences?“ he ventured.

Mr premature ejaculation accepted his reponse with a graceful nod.

„You are supposed to be open about your sexual habits.“ he said „It eases stress and is the first step in overcoming sexual deficiencies and leading a healthy, natural lifestyle.“

„Uh-huh?“ Adam made, still halfway hidden behind his magazine. He'd read the same old diatribes in the pamphlets he'd been given. No one ever actually followed that advice. Except for this man, evidently. He tilted his head in a subtle show of confusion.

„Was my confession too open?“

_You just reinvented the concept of too much information, dude._ Adam thought. What he said was: 

„Maybe just a bit … uh.“ Early. Too soon. Premature. With horror Adam realised there was no way he could phrase this without making an unintentional jab at the man's problem. „Usually people introduce themselves before they talk about their, uhm ...“ He waved his hand at thin air and the general concept of privacy layers.

„Of course. My apologies.“ the man said and added: „My name is Michael. Why is your sex life not to your satisfaction?“

Adam choked on his spit. He coughed and wheezed, waving Michael away as he attempted to walk over and assist him. 

„I … I … that's, I mean …“

„Perfectly natural. However, if you wish not to discuss the nature of your problem I understand. Everyone should take the steps of their sexual self-discovery at their own pace.“

Before Adam could answer to that, a comment about how Michael sounded like a self-help book on his lips, his name was called.

_Oh, thank god_ . He thought to himself, following the receptionist into the doctor's office, without saying goodbye to Michael.

 

 

The facts were that, plain and simple, Michael was in love. With the boy who spent his fifteen minutes in the waiting room enthusiastically pretending to be interested in the five best ski resorts for this season. 

On his first appointment Michael had arrived an hour too early due to a combination of illegible handwriting, nervousness and plain irony. And there the boy, whom the receptionist called Mr Milligan, sat, slender frame almost disappearing in the plastic chair. It was love at first sight and Michael wanted nothing more than to talk to him, ask him out on dates, find out what kinds of movies he liked, how he took his coffee, if he liked to go dancing or rather spend his friday nights curled up on a sofa with a book and, maybe, an empty space where Michael could make himself at home.

The first and biggest barrier was, of course, that there was no possible way he could keep his 'problem' a secret. You didn't go to a therapist if everything was fine. If he pretended the place they met to be a mere coincidence, the boy would always wonder what was wrong with Michael. And so he decided to preamble any introductions with the obvious. That way Mr Milligan would know what he was getting himself into and there would be no awkward tension between them as he tried to figure out why Michael would have need of a sex therapist.

The plan admittedly sounded better in his head. With his brain using his arteries as a waterslide and his hands shaking as if to an inaudible tune it was perhaps not surprising that he'd judged telling a stranger about his penis problems a sound decision.

His only consolation after the boy hurried out of the waiting room was that at least he would be remembered. As a perverted freak with no social boundaries perhaps, but then again, things could be worse. His brothers could have been there with him, for example.

As it was Michael sat and waited for an appointment he had been an hour early to for four months just to see the boy with the pale blue eyes.

 

 

 

Adam wondered about his future sometimes. Not in the pants-wettingly terrifying way that came with adulthood, although that too. But mostly, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, he wondered about little things. Would he be the kind of old person who told children to get off his lawn or would he be the kind that always purchased girl scout cookies even though his teeth would be long unable to chew them anymore?

Would he have grand-children or grand-nieces and -nephews that visited him on the weekends? And was there any way he could tell the story of how he met his husband of 50 years and begin it with the sentence: He said he ejaculated prematurely, but he looked really cute so I married him.

In the depths of his mind Adam suspected that this was not a thing to tell your grand-relatives nor anything to base a relationship on. He'd be hard pressed to find people who'd base a date on penile overexcitement. 

But still Michael wouldn't leave his mind. There was the fact that he was handsome, gorgeous really and perhaps that this was on top of his 'pro'-list made Adam shallow. But there was also curiosity. He wanted to get to know a man who could straight up confess coming too soon to a complete stranger.

 

 

The next time they met in the waiting room, Adam had a plan. It would have surprised him that, all things considered, his line of thinking went surprisingly correspondent to Michael's. It went like this: Michael told him an intensely private fact about himself. This put him at a disadvantage since he didn't know something comparable private about Adam. This in turn moved Adam into an awkward position which, he decided, was best rectified by saying this:  


„I can't come at all.“

 

Now the idea of getting a complicated situation out of the way by usage of honesty had been something both Adam and Michael had come up with on their own.   
However Michael had, prior to his confession, made sure there were no other people in the waiting room.

 

When Adam realised his mistake the whole room already stared at him. He felt heat, starting just under the collar of his shirt creeping up to his neck, boiling his ears and cheeks and drying out his mouth. A woman in her late thirties dropped her knitting needles, cheeks rosy in second-hand embarrassment. The man next to her, dressed in a tailored Italian suit, expressed a sudden interest in the picture of a sunflower over Adam's head. Adam concentrated on these people. He couldn't bear to look at Michael now that he had made an utter and complete fool of himself. There went his chances at a dreamy if slightly socially unique husband.

But then, in the tiniest voice that barely reached across the room, the woman with the knitting needles spoke up.

 

„My husband thinks I'm frigid and threatens to leave me.“

And thus, like a torrent, discussion broke out in the room.

„I think I might be gay but I've been happily married for fifteen years.“

„Your husband is a dick, ma'am and you deserve better.“

„I just don't get wet no matter how aroused I am.“

„I can't orgasm unless someone chokes me and the people at the hospital said I should probably go seek help.“

 

Adam and Michael did strike up eye contact then, awkwardness forgotten in the face of mutual bafflement. Over the conversation of the other patients they communicated silently, reasserting that nothing had been destroyed and that, perhaps, some privacy might be in order.

„Do you want to go out with me?“ Michael mouthed across the room.

Adam nodded.

 

 

They missed their appointments with the sex therapist as well as the founding of the self-help group that would, over the next ten years, become one of the most famous authorities in the field of sexual health. Their book, 'The boy who didn't come', was an international bestseller and stood on many bookshelves and was saved in many kindles.

It didn't, however, stand on the shelves of Adam and Michael Milligan. They didn't need it anymore.

 

 

 


End file.
